To That Which Is No Longer
by siapom
Summary: This started as my entry for this month's CBPC, but it turned into more. It's about facing uncertainty and loss. For more, you'll have to step inside and see what it means to you.


**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine. If they were, I would never have felt the need to write this story.

**A/N:** This started out as just my entry for this month's CBPC. (Not that my entry counts, btw.) But, it turned into so much more…at least for me. I haven't really been reading much since the finale aired, so maybe this has already been done. I don't know. I just suddenly needed to write it. And, I'm sincerely hoping that it is well written enough for you to take something more away from it than just the words. I know that I have.

**To That Which Is No Longer**

The moonlight seemed dull as it reflected off of the table's stainless steel surface. The lab was dark and quiet, which suited his mood quite nicely even though he'd chosen this location by default. It seemed more fitting, somehow, than any of the rooms in his sprawling home; although, the perfect place would have been the apartment above the garage. That had even been his first stop. However, as he'd stood in front of that door with the key in hand, he'd realized that he wasn't quite ready to face all of that history; so, he'd ended up here.

Raising a glass in salute, Jack said, "To the best batch we ever made."

He didn't even know why he was bothering to toast with each drink, but still he waited until the echo of his words died away before taking a ragged breath and knocking back the shot. He relished the fiery sensation created as the liquid passed his lips to slide down his tightening throat…and ignored the burn behind his closed eyelids.

Shaking his head, he denied their appearance and took a deep breath. "No. Not tonight." The memories deserved better than maudlin tears.

Blinking rapidly, he smacked the tiny glass onto the table and reached for the bottle. He hadn't kept count of how many he'd had, but that was okay. There was plenty left and no need to share. He was alone. So, given the circumstances, he'd taken it upon himself to make sure that each drop was savored, honored. He considered it to be his solemn duty to his friend and to himself. It was his final nod to that which is no longer.

Holding the glass high, he watched as the clear liquid sloshed over the edge, the plummeting drops glittering with moonlight before splattering onto the table. They'd made it three days before…

Well, three days before the world had rocked, inexplicably, on its axis. Three days before _everything _that he thought he had known was called into question. Three fucking days before his heart had been torn and left on display as a testament to his own blind gullibility. How had he not _known_? He tilted his head back and pressed the glass to his lips, the toast he'd wanted to offer firmly trapped behind the strangling lump that had formed in his throat.

"You really shouldn't drink alone."

Ignoring the interruption he tipped the contents into his open mouth and swallowed hard, forcing the liquid down. Head still back, he took a deep breath, eyes once again shut against the memories that struggled to surface. "It somehow seemed appropriate." Reaching blindly to his left, he grabbed the bottle.

"So I should leave?"

The hesitation in her voice stilled his hand. He hadn't wanted company, but he should have known she'd show up. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well, which meant she worked instead. Hell, maybe he'd subconsciously been awaiting her arrival all along. His mind sometimes worked that way.

"No." He hooked a sneaker-clad foot around the rung of the stool to his right, pulling it out from under the table. When the screech of metal against tile quieted, he added, "Pull up a chair." He gestured toward the sterilized lab equipment in the closest storage cabinet. "And grab a glass."

Brennan cast a wary glance and considered the offer before dropping her bag to the floor and walking slowly to the cabinet. Opening the door, she carefully reached all the way to the back, searching by feel for their secret stash of shot glasses. As she approached the table, he watched her glance at the bottle before turning her gaze to meet his, and he could tell that she wasn't sure what she should say. It was obvious that he'd been here awhile. His face was pale, but he could feel the sheen of sweat that had appeared after that last drink. And his blue eyes, while brightly glazed with the alcohol, were still shadowed by the shockingly dark circles that had been growing more evident by the day. It wouldn't occur to her to comment on his appearance, but she didn't have to; he could see that much for himself thanks to the table's distorted reflection. However, knowing that she of all people might understand, he waited patiently while she made her assessment of the situation before squaring her shoulders and placing her glass on the table beside his. She gingerly took a seat on the stool, facing him, as he'd known she would. However, he hadn't expected her to say anything yet, so when she asked, "Did you make this with – "

"Yeah." Jack cut her off. It was rude, but he just couldn't bear to hear the name. He filled her glass to overflowing before topping off his own. "Here. It's actually pretty good." Turning to face her, he raised the shot. "To a recipe finally perfected."

Brennan at least pretended not to notice how his voice cracked and raised her glass to meet his own. He watched as she acknowledged the toast with a nod and quickly swallowed the shot. He even almost smiled as she tried not to cough as it scorched a path on its way down. "Wow." She blinked to clear her vision and looked at Jack. He couldn't be sure if she was mentally prepared for this journey, but she wasn't a woman to hide from the uncomfortable. She purposefully placed her glass beside the bottle and asked, "Another?"

"Yeah."

He poured the next round and then a few more. They continued until the bottle was nearly empty. He tried to coax her into offering up a toast of her own, but she always left that honor to him, saying that it was his alcohol and, therefore, his responsibility. It wasn't too long before they were both glassy-eyed, but at least both had smiled and even laughed at times over the toasts that had been made.

It wasn't until Jack's unsteady hand poured the last of the bottle that he knew it was time. He held up his glass and waited patiently for Brennan to raise hers. When she looked at him expectantly, he chose his words with care, wanting to get this one out before he lost his ability to string together a coherent sentence. "To my best friend, who looked past the surface of what I have to become the only family that ever really knew and accepted me for who I am." The words, which had started out strong, finished in a whisper. He started to lower his glass, but stopped short as he felt Brennan's cool fingers touch his own. Startled, his gaze met hers, and he watched as a lone teardrop slid down her flushed cheek. He should have realized then what she was going to do; but he was still jolted when she said the one thing that would be his undoing. And as his own tears finally escaped, he touched his glass to hers and echoed her only toast.

"To Zack."


End file.
